A Song on the Wind
by Eryniel Alasse
Summary: At Amon Rûdh, Túrin's Gaurwaith are slaughtered by a party of Orcs lead to them by the traitorous Petty-dwarf Mîm. Both Beleg and Túrin are captured, and it seems that neither of them will make it out of this nightmare alive. They've been through so much together, but it seems like their story is ending. Canon, complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Song on the Wind

 **Author:** Eryniel Alassë

 **Disclaimer:** I do not, unfortunately, own the Silmarillion, nor any of J.R.R. Tolkien's other fabulous works. I am writing this for my own and others' enjoyment, and I will not gain any money from this story. I'm just a kid playing around in his endless sandbox of wonders.

 **Summary:** At Amon Rûdh,Túrin's Gaurwaith are slaughtered by a party of Orcs lead to them by the traitorous Petty-dwarf Mîm. Both Beleg and Túrin are captured, and it seems that neither of them will make it out of this nightmare alive.

 **Rating** : T (PG-13) for some implied violence and torture, and a character death.

 **Characters** : Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion, Gwindor Guilinion of Nargothrond, and of course the infamous, omnipresent party of Orcs.

 **A/N:** This story _won't_ contain slash; I don't write anything of the sort. Any love mentioned between two males is meant the way Tolkien meant it: platonically. Thanks, and please don't interpret this story as anything different.

This story is dedicated to my dear friend VCalien2015, who first gave me the courage to post this. _Hantalë, yelda medenya. :)_

This story will contain frequent bits and pieces of pure Sindarin Elvish, sourced from _Parf Edhellen_. I swear upon Eru Ilúvatar that everything is accurate, else it wouldn't be in my story. Everything but the very common phrases will have translations directly after. However, I'd expect most Tolkien fans to at least have a cursory knowledge of Sindarin, even if it's not as detailed as my own.

I tried my best to make the facts of the story as close to canon as possible. You have no idea how long I've spent on researching and double-checking the facts of this story. So please, honor my hard work on my debut and leave a review on your way out. Even if the review is only to tell me that my writing is atrocious and deserves to be tossed into Orodruin, at least it'll mean that someone read it. I've never even _read_ the Silmarillion, but I have probably spent somewhere approaching eight hours working on this story. So please, _please_ humor me and give me some feedback. Thanks! :)

Enough blabbing! On with the story!

 **Chapter 1:**

~Túrin~

Pain.

One wonders what use such a sensation could possibly have. Pain serves no purpose but to incapacitate and cripple, if you allow it to; yet there must have been some reason for Ilúvatar giving it to sentient beings.

It was an odd tendency of mine to allow my mind to wander and consider abstract questions and concepts to distract myself. Most of the time, this occurred to take my mind off something unpleasant, and my current circumstances were certainly no exception.

My bound wrists throbbed with every beat of my heart. The skin on them had long since been scraped away by the abrasive ropes that bound me to the tree. Orc ropes were a true masterpiece in their creators' eyes, interwoven with metal shards to create a coarse fiber that was the rough equivalent of the texture of broken glass.

But even that pain could not compete with the complaints of my body, nor the ache in my heart. My left ankle was badly sprained, perhaps broken; I had whip slashes all across my back; as well as too many bruises and scratches to count; and, judging by the sharp stabs of stabs of pain issuing from my torso every time I inhaled, I had several fractured or even shattered ribs.

My _fëa_ was more damaged than my _hröa_ could ever claim to be, however. The Orcs that had captured me had murdered the entire band of Gaurwaith I had lead, including my closest and oldest friend Beleg. They had stabbed him through the stomach and left him to die. As one of the Eldar, he was gifted with rapid healing abilities. But even an immortal could not survive such a grievous wound.

 _Beleg, my friend, I am so sorry. I only wish I could have said farewell,_ I thought, tears pricking my eyes. I had no doubt that soon I would die, once my identity as the son of Húrin was discovered.

The Orcs that had captured me took a perverse pleasure in beating me. They had whipped and kicked me until I hardly had any skin that was not decorated with a cut or bruise. " _Thaur_ _yrch_ ," I muttered. "Foul Orcs." I took a strange sense of pride in the fact that the Orcs had not succeeded in making me cry out yet; I had more strength than that.

Despite all the wounds and aches in my body clamoring for my attention, exhaustion overtook me and my head drooped against my chest.

~Beleg~

"Leave the scum here. We can let the dwarf deal with him."

These words, accompanied by a grating chuckle, were the first things that greeted me upon my return to consciousness. Overall, it was one of the most unpleasant awakenings I had ever had the displeasure to experience. With at least ten thousand years behind me, that was truly saying something. To add to the unpleasantness, a burning pain assaulted my midsection, undoubtedly from a hefty laceration from an Orc's blade.

The voice came again: "Goshnagz, toss those ropes over here. This devil needs to be secured."

With a small groan, I forced my leaden eyelids open. A sneering, disfigured face filled my blurry vision. Damn, it had to be Orcs, didn't it?

"Ah, awake, are ye, scum? You won't be for much longer," the Orc taunted, drawing a notched, curved dagger from his belt and twirling it lightly between his mangled fingers. The monster seemed to be debating over which end to put to use. Almost reluctantly, he grasped the weapon's hilt backwards and brought the pommel crashing down upon my temple. The blinding impact send me spiraling into unconsciousness once more.

When I came around for the second time, I immediately tried to cover my face with my hands, for the mid-morning sun was directly in my eyes. My attempted movements were met with a sharp jerk of resistance from both wrists. Raising my head from my prone position, I took in my situation.

My hands were bound with heavy black ropes and stretched out to the sides; my booted feet secured in a similar fashion. None of the ropes had any give to them, nor did the knots relax in the slightest, no matter how hard I struggled.

My thoughts weren't truly on my situation, however. Rather, they were with the Gaurwaith with whom I had spent I had spent the better part of three years defending the Dor-Cúarthol... and the accursed Petty-Dwarf that had brought our bitterly purchased peace to a crashing end. I had warned Túrin repeatedly not to become too trusting with Mîm, but my dear headstrong friend had always been too obstinate for his own good.

Now, it appeared as if we were all going to die. Before being knocked unconcious for the first time in the battle field, I had seen my comrades-in-arms being taken off guard by the Orcs and slaughtered. It was highly unlikely that any of them had survived.

The one's passing that would cause me the most sorrow would be my friend Túrin, whom I had known since he was a mere nine years old. As he matured, he had found a special place in my heart, always being the first to greet me and the last to leave me in any circumstances we found ourselves. The idea of continuing without him was so dreadful that I quickly turned my mind from such thoughts.

A rustling from above me on the slope caused my heart to jump with the sudden adrenaline coursing through me. In my helpless current position, I would be far too easy prey for anyone intending harm. Before the source of the noise came into view, I had a sinking suspicion that I knew the culprit. The Orcs had mentioned leaving me behind to be dealt with by the dwarf, which could only be referring to Mîm.

True to my guess, the squat figure of the traitorous dwarf came into full view. Mîm's gnarled face was set in a delighted smirk. I only had to take a sole glance at his murderous eyes to know that he intended to kill me. Most likely, the process would not be quick one.

The dwarf circled me once, most likely admiring my current vulnerability. "Never thought that I would live to see the day that an elf died," Mîm said in an almost conversational tone. "Especially when I'm the one to cause it."

I gave him the iciest glare that I could muster, refusing to show any sign of the sick dread that was causing my heart to jump. " _Badach na band, hên i Morgoth_!" I spat at the stunted creature. ("Go to hell, spawn of Morgoth!")

Mîm clearly couldn't speak Sindarin, but the burning hatred in my tone gave him a shrewd guess as to my meaning. The dwarf's face darkened in rage, and he drew his double-bladed axe from his back. "I was considering letting you go quickly, elf," he said in a soft, seething tone, "but you are making this very difficult for yourself. Perhaps I should slice you up, bit by bit..." Mîm traced invisible lines in the air, mimicking the cutting of a loaf of bread, starting at my hand and ending at my shoulder.

My eyes widened in horror. My hands I valued more than any other part of my body, for I was an archer, and the loss of one would cause my remarkable skill to be for naught. I turned my face away, clenching my eyes shut, unwilling to see the axe descend.

Mîm's taunting voice floated to me. "Scared, elfling? It should only last an hour or two; nothing too terrible."

My head jerked back to face Mîm and my gaze locked on his, my eyes snapping fire at him. He may have been about to kill me, but I still possessed my pride. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of breaking me before my death.

Mîm scowled at me and raised his axe, aiming for my left hand. I shivered, staring wide-eyed at his blade, waiting for the blow to come.

A mighty roar split the air between us. A figure staggered up the steep incline, a bloodied sword in his hands. The man's clothing was blood-soaked and he swayed slightly before collecting himself and charging at Mîm, sword drawn back for a lethal swing. Mîm's face registered utter shock, and then the dwarf stumbled back to avoid the strike, which thudded into the earth at his feet. Then the traitor pelted for the trees, not even looking back. I curled my lip in contempt; the dwarf was a coward. He would never dare face a truly skilled opponent unless they were down and helpless.

My rescuer fell to his knees beside me, breathing heavily. He leaned over slightly, his sword falling from limp fingers. Both hands were clutched around his midsection, and dark blood welled between his fingers, indicating a grave, perhaps lethal wound. Then, I caught a glimpse of his face, and relief coursed through me as I recognized Andróg, one of the Gaurwaith of Túrin's band.

"Andróg?" I inquired softly, worried by his unresponsiveness.

Andróg stirred himself with a small groan, and, retrieving his sword, severed the bonds on my hands, allowing me to sit up. I yanked at the knots securing my ankles and tossed the offensive ropes aside. When Andróg fell to the side with a small cry, I grasped his shoulders and held him upright. Gently, I peeled his clenched hands away from his stomach, trying to glimpse his wound and judge its severity. Andróg batted my hands away weakly.

"No use… he wheezed. "Won't… make it."

I settled my arm around his shoulders to support him, lifting his chin so that his eyes met mine. "What of the others? Do any live?"

Andróg swallowed painfully and shook his head, a small movement to keep from sending the world spinning. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "We were the only ones… to survive."

My eyes closed in sorrow. Túrin, my dearest friend, was no more. The band of warriors who had become my brothers-in-arms had been slaughtered by the Orcs. I would never become accustomed to the terribly short lives that the _Edain_ led.

Andróg gasped out painfully, "I don't have long… but I need to say that I am sorry… for distrusting you. I have been honored… to have fought by your side… my brother." His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled softly and lay still.

My eyes pricked with tears as I laid Andróg down with his feet facing the west and the setting sun, towards the Halls of Mandos. "May your journey be swift, my friend," I choked out. "Find your peace at last."

I slowly stood, one hand clenched around my stomach and the deep wound inflicted there. It was going to need cleaning and a bandage, but first I had to find my pack and my weapons. And afterwards, I was going to scout out the battle site. A desperate hope still fluttered inside me, an unreasoning thought that perhaps someone, anyone had survived the fight with the Orcs. I couldn't bring myself to simply give up on my friends before I knew the truth.

§§§§§§

 **So that's the first chapter! What do you think, is it worth continuing? Assuming that the answer is yes, the next chapter should be up in about a week. However, if I get five or more reviews before then, I might just be persuaded to post it a little sooner...**

 ** _Please_** **review!**

 **Take care, Eryn :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed… even if it was only three people…. In any event, thanks anyway!

Responses to reviews:

Kiya and Calien, I already responded to you in PM, so hopefully that'll do!

Gingerrogers12345: Since I can't PM you, I hope this will do. Thank you so much for such a kind review! Of course this story will be completed. I already have it finished, so there would be no sane reason for me not to upload it all. Your praise truly made my day, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter! :)

 **A/N:** This chapter will be somewhat longer than its predecessor, but still a bit on the small side. If I can make an excuse, it's that all this was typed out, edited, and uploaded on a phone. Yes, that's right, a _phone_. I wanted to write and post this enough that I found a way around the obstacle of not having a computer. So bear with me on the short chapters!

Alright, without any further ado, I present chapter two to you!

§§§§§§

~Beleg~

Amon Rûdh was a gently sloping hill cloaked in scarlet _seregon_ blossoms. From afar, this feature gave the appearance of blood coating the summit. This had always been an illusion, until the fateful day on which the Gaurwaith had been slaughtered. Now, the hilltop was in truth soaked with blood, from the mangled bodies scattered around the clearing.

I stood still, the keening wind whipping my cloak out to the side, surveying the carnage before me in despair. One look told me that none of the men could possibly still live. Each had at least two or three wounds that could be considered fatal. Undoubtedly, the men had slain a fair quantity of Orcs as they went down, but the troop seemed to have removed their dead.

The persistent hope that had subsided when I surveyed the battle scene flared again when I considered that someone may have been taken prisoner. Perhaps Túrin had survived. Perhaps...

I slowly wound my way through the clearing, noting each man's face and recognizing them all. Yet the one I had desperately hoped not to find remained missing. After I had checked each body twice, it was clear that Túrin was not among the fallen. Then, my feet approached a blood-soaked patch of earth. My heart jolted in fear when I noticed the shattered sword lying abandoned in the long grass next to the coppery stain. It was Túrin's sword; I would know it anywhere.

But what truly caught my attention was not the broken blade, but rather the dragging marks that lay but a few steps beyond it. The deep-set footprints of an Orc could be seen mingled with the tracks. I was correct; they had taken Túrin with them.

At the moment, I couldn't decide between my ineffable joy at his survival and the fresh stab of panic over his current circumstances. I decided to focus on my former rather than the latter, because it my emotions were overloaded at the moment and the last thing I needed was another of the negative sort to deal with.

Before I could do anything to track the Orcs, I had to clean my wound and gather in my undoubtedly scattered provisions. In any event, the Orcs would be stopping to rest for the night soon; and I couldn't track them in the dark, either.

As I returned to the now abandoned campsite, I found my pack and my weapons lying nearby. Some Orc had gone through it and removed all the dried food aside from the _lembas._ That was well, for the elvish waybread had been given to me by the Lady Melian herself, and was worth far more than a few strips of dried meat and berries.

Anglachel and Belthronding, my sword and bow, were in remarkably good condition aside from a few scratches and a dull edge on the blade. However, half my arrows were scattered within a ten-foot radius of my quiver and the rest were tossed around the clearing where they had been removed from the bodies of the Orcs. They could be collected later; my deep and throbbing cut to the stomach was a much more pressing matter.

I pulled out my medical kit, removing and laying out some infection-inhibiting cream, _athelas_ , and clean bandages. Gingerly, I removed my tunic and jerkin to expose the wound. It was still raw and seeping blood. Wincing, I lathered some of the cream onto the wound, working it in and around the laceration to clean it out as thoroughly as possible. That completed, I crushed several _athelas_ leaves and packed them into the gash to allow their healing properties to take effect. As a final touch, I wound a bandage around my torso, neatly tucking in the edges and securing it in place. It was painful, but my long experience with wounds far more severe had given me the ability to function around great amounts of pain.

That grisly task completed, I stood up cautiously and began to collect my arrows from where they had been scattered around the clearing. The work was painful, but I dared not set off after a party of more than thirty Orcs without ammunition for my bow. Stowing all my gear, I hefted the pack onto my back and slowly stood, careful to not overstretch my sore stomach. I wanted to reach a tree to spend the night in before night fell completely.

As I left the clearing, I cast one final glance at the carnage around the summit of Amon Rûdh. I truly wished that I could have given all of the men a proper burial, but I had neither the time nor the strength at the moment to carry out such a physically and mentally exhausting ordeal.

"May the Valar guide you all safely to the Halls of Mandos," I whispered to the departed fëar of the men. "I am sorry that this had to come to pass." I held my hand to my heart, extended it out, and bowed my head in tribute to my fallen friends. "Rest in peace," I choked out.

With that final farewell, I slowly turned and began to descend to the foot of Amon Rûdh.

I built a light flet in the branches of a massive oak tree to spend the night in upon reaching the forest, which was a short distance away from the mountain. The oak whispered its pleasure softly, delighted to have an elf sleeping within its embrace. Despite my worry over Túrin, I dropped off almost immediately, my body's exhaustion overriding everything else.

…Only to be snapped awake several hours later by a series of nearly silent footfalls. Immediately, I dimmed my natural luminescence and armed my bow. My acute senses told me there was only one person, and the steps were far too stealthy to belong to an Orc or man.

No, only an elf could move that silently.

Quickly, I slid down the maple, moving noiselessly in the direction of the person. He or she must have been injured, for there was a distinct limp in the soft tread. The being came into view, and I sucked my breath in sharply.

The _ellon_ with his back towards me had been badly abused. The ragged remains of his tunic were stained in rust-colored splotches. His limbs were frail and shaking, and he looked on the verge of collapse.

He still hadn't noticed me, so I called out, " _Mae_ _govannen_. Well met." He whirled around quickly, hands automatically curled into fists.

" _Sîdh_ , _mellon_ - _nín_!" I said quickly. "Peace, my friend, I mean you no harm." He slowly relaxed, the panic leaving his eyes. "Well met, fellow elf," he replied in a slightly hoarse voice. His knees gave out under him and I sprang forward and lowered him to the ground. "Thank you _,_ " he said quietly, wincing as his back made contact with the earth.

My concern grew as I took in the true severity of his condition. "Lie still," I ordered him softly. "I need to treat your wounds." I rummaged in my pack for my medicine kit and pulled out a jar of infection-preventing ointment, some _athelas_ , and a roll of bandages, the very things I had used for my own wound several hours previously.

As I began to clean his impressive list of injuries, I asked, "What is your name?"

He replied, "I am Gwindor Guilionion, former prince of Nargothrond. I was taken captive in the _Nírnaeth Arnoediad_ and have been held in Angband ever since. I only recently managed to escape. My captivity is how _this_ happened." He held up his left arm, and I winced when I saw that his hand had been cut off, leaving a silver, rippled stump in its place.

 _That would explain his white hair,_ I thought to myself, but was polite enough not to voice the comment. Elves' hair only turned pure white when they were subjected to extreme pain, grief, or long seperation from the sun and growing things, the source of life for all the Eldar. From Gwindor's story, most likely all three were true.

I replied, "It grieves me to hear this, but no doubt your family will be overjoyed to see you alive. I am Beleg Cúthalion, Marchwarden of Doriath."

Gwindor winced as I gently cleaned a particularly deep, infected whip slash across his shoulder blades. I didn't even want to think of how he had come across so many injuries. When I had finished treating and dressing his wounds, I pulled a flask and some _lembas_ andhandedthem wordlessly to Gwindor. Guessing from the gauntness of his ribs and the sharp angles in his face, it had been far too long since he had properly eaten.

Gwindor made short work of both, and then afterwards inquired as to what I was doing so far from Doriath.

I replied, "I am searching for my friend Túrin. He was taken by Orcs several days ago, and I have been tracking the ones who took him."

Gwindor raised his eyebrows. "I saw a group of about thirty-five orcs with a prisoner in chains around sundown. I had to hide at the side of the path to avoid being seen. The man was over six feet tall. Is that your friend?"

I allowed myself a small smile. Túrin was only about six hours away from me, assuming that the Orcs had stopped for the night. "It would appear so. Thank you, my friend. You have no idea how much he means to me."

Gwindor snorted slightly. "You're thanking me? I think that any thanks should go to you. I haven't done anything."

Softly, I said, "You have given me hope, and I could never put a price on that."

I took a spare tunic from my pack, handing it to Gwindor, as his own was no more than a few shreds of fabric. He accepted it gratefully and pulled it over his head, smoothing it gingerly to avoid aggravating his back.

I said, "At first light, I am going break camp and continue after my friend. If you do not wish to come, I can offer you only basic supplies, as I only have the bare essentials myself."

Gwindor was shaking his head before I had finished. "I would like to come with you, if I will not hinder you. I know I am not in any sort of state to be fending for myself in this forest."

I nodded in consent. "In that case, both of us should get some rest."

I took him back to the flet in the giant oak and, to my surprise, he pulled himself into the branches without any trouble at all. I gave him Túrin's bedroll, deciding that Túrin could use mine when he was free. In several minutes, both of us were asleep, worn-out and needing sleep to heal our bodies' abuse.

§§§§§§

 **So, I think that's a nice place to leave our characters for the time being. :) Now… is anyone wondering about Túrin? I promise you'll hear from him next chapter, which will be the last full-length one for this story. To those who know how the canonical story ends, it shouldn't be much of a surprise, but I'm hoping that I can capture the emotions correctly. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about… well, you'll see soon.**

 **I'd just like to say that I'm of course no doctor, and so I came up with what I thought was the most logical treatment to do given the circumstances. If I did something completely wrong and would have killed my characters had they been real,** **please** **tell me and I'll do my best to fix the issue!**

 **Next chapter should be up another week from today, but the same applies concerning feedback.**

 **Please review!**

 **Hugs, Eryn :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Four:**

Thank you again for the couple of people who gave me feedback, and since I can't reply to guest reviews, here we go:

 _Nelyo_ : Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm always grateful that anyone at all takes the time to leave a comment, and yours really made my day, truly. I hope you, and everyone else, enjoy the next chapter!

A/N: Alright, I'm going to issue the official tissue alert for this chapter and the epilogue. I seriously mean it, if you're the emotional type.

Okey-dokey, folks, here's the next chapter, without any further delay! :)

§§§§§§

~Beleg~

I awoke in the pre-dawn stillness, when the sky was a misty grey and it was difficult to see even ten feet beyond our platform. The sun had not truly risen, but there was just enough light to begin the day.

I rolled my bedding into a tidy bundle and replaced it in my pack, and pulled out some more _lembas_ and water. It was an uninteresting and and constant diet, but I did not care to waste time foraging anything else. Meat would have been useless anyway, as I did not dare risk a fire for fear of detection.

I gently roused Gwindor with a touch on his arm, and his eyes snapped open. The mere fact that his eyes had been closed in slumber spoke volumes of his _hröa's_ weakness. Still, he seemed remarkably clear-minded for someone who had just awoken.

"Time to get going?" he inquired, as he nibbled on his breakfast.

"Aye," I replied. "But I would see to your wounds first."

Nodding in acquiesce, he swallowed the last of his waybread and began to remove his tunic. Gwindor caught his breath sharply when he brushed against a painful laceration. Quickly, I was beside him, brushing his fingers away and gently sliding the garment over his shoulders. I pushed his long white hair over his shoulder and began to carefully unwind the first of the bandages. Nodding in satisfaction, I noted that the salve and the herbs had done their work well. I changed the wrappings on the rest of his back and then handed Gwindor's shirt back to him.

"Your back is looking much better today," I told Gwindor, smiling softly at him as he slid back into his shirt and refastened the ties. On an impulse, I settled behind him once more, and began to comb through his hair with my fingers to remove the knots in it. Then, I gently plaited his hair into a single, simple braid. Gwindor's hair was still silky and smooth despite his previous circumstances, as was all of the Eldar's. I bound the end with a leather cord and rested my hand on his shoulder for a moment. "That should prevent it from being in the way today."

"It will," Gwindor agreed. "Thank you." He touched the end of his braid with gentle fingers. "It's been so long since my hair has been braided… I won't be able to do that now," he said softly, looking at his missing left hand. I could see him hastily backing away from the dark memories associated with the loss.

Gwindor looked down through the branches. "I should be able to get down from the tree all right by myself." He swung down from the oak just as nimbly as he had climbed it the day before. I thought idly that he must have been exceedingly strong and agile before his capivity as I shouldered the pack and jumped down beside him.

Before we set off, I felt his touch on my shoulder and turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Thank you, my friend," he said softly, his piercing grey eyes holding my gaze.

I smiled slightly as I gripped his shoulder firmly. "I am glad I was able to help," I replied sincerely. "It's what any other elf would have done."

"Still, thank you nonetheless," he repeated. I squeezed his shoulder, accepting his heartfelt gratitude. Before we set off, I gave Gwindor a long knife, as I did not want him to be completely unarmed in case something went amiss.

The trail the Orcs had left was just as clear as it had been the day before, and we made made remarkable progress. Or at least, I knew that we were gaining on Túrin's captors, as the signs of the party's progress became more recent. At one point, a rust-colored stain marred the lush grass to the side of the path. I swear my vision went red around the edges as I silently fumed, vowing that every Orc in that party would die for what they had done to my friend.

When it became apparent that we were scarcely fifteen minutes behind our quarry, I found a clearing and left Gwindor behind with the pack, promising to return to him with Túrin if all went well. He was still injured; I did not want him to be possibly harmed further by coming with me. On second thought, though, I tucked some healing supplies into my belt. Knowing what I did of Orcs, Túrin would be injured when I found him.

I stole noiselessly through the dusk, relying more on my ears and the voices of the trees to guide me than my eyes. I saw the faint glow of several campfires, undoubtedly the Orcs. Creeping through the trees, I reached the clearing where they had stopped for the night. The Orcs were sprawled around the dying fires, doubtless being tired, for they had certainly covered plenty of ground today.

Nocking an arrow to Belthronding's string, I took aim at a particularly stocky _orch_ and let my missile fly, hitting it squarely in the eye. It died silently, as did another three within a heartbeat. The fifth Orc hit by my arrows gave a shriek of pain, rousing at least half of the encampment. Tossing my bow aside, I exchanged it for my sword and fell upon the Orcs, twirling through their ranks, leaving a trail of dead and dying monsters behind me. I gladly took out my fury at the twisted, heartless beasts that had taken my friend. They deserved no mercy for what they had done to Túrin. The Orcs stood no chance against myself, a seasoned warrior, being only roused from slumber mere moments ago.

In several minutes, all of the war party lay slumped around the clearing except for the captain. He had been heavily wounded in the thigh and now knelt on the ground twenty paces away, glaring darkly at me. I reached back and grasped the flights of Dailir, my most trusted arrow. It had never failed me when I most needed it. Retrieving my bow, I took aim, and felt my right forefinger brush my lips as I drew back the string. Dailir whistled across the clearing and buried itself in the Orc's neck. The captain collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

"And let that be last of them," I growled.

Remembering where Dailir still lay embedded in the carcass of the Orc captain, I pulled it free and cleaned it off on the long grass underfoot. The other arrows I cared nothing for; I could always make replacements, but Dailir was precious to me.

My eyes flitted around the clearing, looking for Túrin. My heart ached when I saw him, bound to a tree to my left, bruised and bloodied. His dark head was drooped in exhaustion and the only sign that he still lived was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But in my haste to reach him, I misstepped on an Orc's sprawled corpse and my foot twisted awkwardly beneath me, causing my balance to go awry. I caught myself on my hands, not injured at all, but Dailir was still in my grasp. Its point caught on the ground as I fell, neatly snapping the shaft in two.

I stared at the ruined arrow in my hand in shock. I had shot it dozens, if not hundreds of times, and it had broken due to my carelessness? Sighing, I replaced the shattered halves in my quiver. Perhaps I could mend it later, but for the moment, Túrin was a far more pressing matter.

I walked quickly around the clearing until I stood behind him. Drawing Anglachel, I sliced through the ropes that bound my friend to the tree. As much as I wanted to free him completely, I did not care to spend any more time in this place of slaughter, for there was no telling when another Orc patrol might come by. I picked up Túrin from the base of the tree of the tree and cradled him against my chest, as I began to run back to the place where Gwindor waited.

When I arrived back at our clearing, I gingerly laid Túrin down, spreading my cloak beneath him. Tears sprang into my eyes when I took in the true severity of his condition. He was a mass of bruises and whip marks, covered in blood. My friend's right foot was twisted at an awkward angle, suggesting a sprain that had not been helped by a full day of being walked upon, and, judging by his ragged breaths, he must have some injured, even broken, ribs. I caressed his cheek gently, my brow furrowed in anguish, noting the lines of pain creasing his forehead, even while he remained dead to the world.

I wanted nothing more than to treat his wounds immediately, but first I had to get him free of those cursed ropes. Unsheathing my sword, I grasped Túrin's bloodless hands and gently severed the cords that bound him. I moved on to his ankles, and was almost completed when my friend suddenly spasmed, suggesting he was near waking. That unexpected flinching movement caused Anglachel's edge to leave a long, shallow cut on Túrin's left foot.

Instantly, his misty grey eyes shot open, registering terror, but not recognition. He quickly rose from his prone position and grabbed the hilt of my sword, trying to wrest it from my grip.

" _Daro_ , _daro ha_! Stop it!" I yelled at him, hoping my voice and the elven words would reach him, but to no avail.

His panic gifted him with a final burst of energy and he wrenched Anglachel from my grasp. Without pause, he drew back and thrust it straight it into my heart.

~Túrin~

I felt a savage pleasure as I stabbed the Orc in front of me with my stolen weapon. For some reason, my hands were suddenly unbound, but I certainly wasn't complaining. Unrestrained, with an strong elven sword, and the element of surprise on my side, there was a chance I might be able to escape.

 _Elven sword?_ I thought with a sudden shock.

Suddenly, my vision cleared and I recognized the sword. I looked with horror at the being I had just grievously wounded.

 _Beleg._

 _"_ No _, no_!" Icried _,_ throwing aside the sword and falling to my knees before my friend. I desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood from his body. But I had learned exactly where to hit a person to kill too well. "Please, no..." My voice trailed off into a broken whisper.

I cradled Beleg's face between my palms, silently asking for the forgiveness I knew I didn't deserve.

His bright eyes met mine and he managed a slight smile that quickly turned into a grimace of pain. " _Gohena nín, saes_ ," I whispered. "Forgive me, please." I needed his forgiveness, because I knew I would never, not even when I died, be able to forgive myself.

" _Ú-moe edhored, gwador-nín,_ truly, there is nothing to forgive," he said in a ragged voice. "I do not blame you. This is not your fault." Beleg managed a note of humor, "Your aim is just as good as ever." He took a shuddering, shallow breath. " _Navaer, quel mellon-nín_. Farewell, my dear friend, and my heart shall weep for you until we meet again." His eyes clouded over, and his face slowly relaxed.

And then the Strongbow exhaled… and did not draw breath again.

§§§§§§

 **Okay, _before_ anyone tries to whack, mutilate, and/or drown the author, (not necessarily in that order), allow me to mention that the epilogue IS up, so please read that too. I'm really proud of that latter segment, even if it's a bit on the short side. However, its true worth will be for you readers to decide. :)**

 **Also, I did not come up with the brilliant idea of killing one of my favorite characters, but rather the Professor did. So don't blame _me_ , blame _him_! **

**As always, please, please review!**

 **Take care, Eryn :)**


	4. Chapter 4

A Song on the Wind, Epilogue

 **Epilogue:**

For a long I sat there, staring unseeing at Beleg's body, tears running down my face, lost in a thousand memories of our times together. My injuries provided a constant backdrop of potential distraction, but I shoved the sensations to one side. I tenderly slid shut his brilliant blue eyes that now stared up glassily at the sky, almost reminiscent of eleven sleep. I would never see those eyes roll in sarcasm, laugh, or cry again. They would only ever reflect the lifelessness of his now abandoned _hröa_.

 _This was not supposed to happen, my friend. You were never meant to go before me._

With a choked sob, I clutched Beleg's body to my own, my composure finally cracking. I gently pressed our foreheads together, as we had done so many times in life. I couldn't bear the thought of him not being there to listen to my troubles, to guard my back during battle, and to be the only person who had accepted me for who I was. The idea of him being truly gone was so incredibly painful that for the first time I truly understood the mourning of the Eldar - grief for an immortal life ended far too soon.

I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. A thin, scarred elf had knelt next to me, tears running down his own face. "Who are you?" I asked softly. It was terrible manners not to greet him first, but at the moment, etiquette was the farthest thing from my mind.

"I am Gwindor Guilionion, of Nargothrond," he replied. There was a slight pause, and then he explained how Beleg had found him in the woods. "I only knew him for less than a day, but I admired him nonetheless." His eyes met mine. "I'm sorry, truly. It must be so much worse for you."

I nodded slightly, too overwhelmed to speak. Softly, I began a lament that the elves often sang when one of their number died:

 _Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

 _I am not there, I do not sleep._

 _I am the thousand winds that blow,_

 _I am the diamond glints on snow._

 _I am the sunlight on ripened grain,_

 _I am the gentle autumn rain._

 _When you waken in the morning's hush,_

 _I am the swift uplifting rush_

 _Of gentle birds in circling flight._

 _I am the soft star that shines at night._

 _Do not stand at my grave and cry –_

 _ _I am not there, I did not die...__

It was fitting for my friend, who so loved nature. The word "dead" simply could never, _should_ never describe him. Beleg was a part of the woods, and they a part of him.

Once again, my thoughts turned to the paradox of suffering that I had considered only several hours and an eternity ago, when the worst thing that could have happened was my death. Now, I finally had the answer that had eluded me then.

Pain makes us stronger, or it crushes us. One of the two will happen, but either way, one can never emerge from a period of suffering unchanged. My friend's death would forever scar me, and that was an indisputable fact. I would never truly recover from the loss of my best friend I considered more dear than a brother. But Beleg had given his life for my own, and the worst thing I could do would be to so callously throw away his priceless gift to me.

I would live… for both of us.

For a moment, the song seemed come back, faintly, in Beleg's voice, on the gentle wind that stirred the tops of the trees, as if my friend had lingered to sing with me.

But perhaps it was only an echo.

 ** _Finis_**

 **§§§§§§**

 **So that's the end of the story. I hope I did a passable job in capturing the emotions, because this little segment possibly gave me more problems than all the rest of the story combined. Doing so much research to try and make a story as close to canon as possible is a truly daunting task, but I think that trying to accurately describe the death of a close friend by your own hand is far worse.**

 **The song/poem sang by Túrin is actually an old Irish poem written by Mary Elizabeth Frye in 1932. It's such a poignant piece of poetry and so fitting to this story's mood that I couldn't help but stick it in.**

 **I don't know when next I'll post a story, if ever, so until then, I wish you all the best, and may your roads be straight and the wind at your backs.**

 **Take care, Eryniel Alassë :)**


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